


Everything but love

by MadMoro



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Illustrated, M/M, Madeleine Era, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, strange religious discourse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3752542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMoro/pseuds/MadMoro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madeleine Era. Javert adores M. Madeleine and fights with the dark side of this adoration. Valjean is trying to go the way of the Lord, but prison past stands in his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything but love

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Everything but love (Все кроме любви)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/888319) by [MadMoro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadMoro/pseuds/MadMoro). 



> Many thanks to Ravenna44 for her Herculean efforts to make my creepy translation look like an adequate English text

_Love him and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters?_  
\-- James A. Baldwin

The first time the thought crossed inspector Javert's mind, it was in the evening after a hard day at work. Hanging his uniform over a chair, dressed only in his undershirt, he was getting ready for bed. At exactly the moment when he scooped up water from the basin, he discovered within his mind a precise and clear thought: _Monsieur Madeleine is too well built for a man of his age._

The Inspector didn't attach much importance to this discovery. He respected Monsieur le Maire, to some extent admired him. There was nothing blasphemous about noticing the mayor’s vigor. Only later, looking back, did he realize that this one thought marked the exact beginning of his fall.

The first thought opened the door to others. As time passed, they came to his mind more and more often. Soon they visited him not only under the cover of night, but in daylight. Javert began to catch himself staring - without realizing it, without a shadow of embarrassment - at M. Madeleine. He began paying excessive attention to the appearance and behavior of the Mayor. His fascination grew. It was like a violation of the second commandment, the one that said _thou shalt have no other gods before me._ Day after day in his imagination, the Inspector gave to the Mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer idealistic features. In the eyes of Javert, M. Madeleine began to resemble a creation of the celestial spheres rather than an ordinary man. This both frightened him and drew him in.

Javert prided himself on being able to evaluate a man’s character, often at a glance. Monsieur le Maire should be no more a mystery than any other man, since he was flesh and blood just like the rest. And yet--

He tried to put his finger on quality that set M. Madeleine apart from all other inhabitants of Montreuil-sur-Mer, but he remained perplexed. Amid the tangle of images and emotions the Mayor aroused in him, he was certain only that Monsieur le Maire was unique among men.

As thoughts of Monsieur le Maire took greater hold of him, there came dreams as well. And to write these off as simply evidence of his admiration for the mayor was impossible. These dreams disturbed the Inspector's peace of mind. They had too much liberty, too much frankness - qualities which Javert had always taken pains to avoid in his waking life. Like all dreams, they followed their own laws. They always began innocently, with the two men making banal small talk over glasses of wine. Often they were in M. Madeleine's office at the factory, or sometimes the living room of M. Madeleine’s house, which Javert had twice in the past had the privilege of visiting. At times these dreams were set, most outrageously, in Javert’s own rented rooms. He and Monsieur le Maire would discuss affairs of the city, the price of bread, the place of charity -- but at some point, the wine would go to Javert’s head, his speech would begin to slur, and he would remain still and unembarrassed as the large palm of Madeleine came down to cover his hand.

Often the dreams ended with him springing awake and lying with eyes open through the rest of the night. Yet despite his dislike of them, they continued. Monsieur le Maire would lean over a narrow table or armrest or some object that separated him from Javert, and his face would loom so close that the Inspector felt his superior’s breath upon his cheek. Thrown into disarray by the Mayor’s nearness, Javert would slightly open his mouth in an attempt to say something, but could never find the proper words. Every time, he would close his eyes wishing to drown in the intoxicating shadow of the other man and feel on his lips the kiss of M. Madeleine, burning like hell’s flames. And then he would wake up - and with a groan of despair hide his face, afire with shame, in the folds of the blanket.

He dared to wish for the unattainable. He dared to wish for the unnatural.

He who never wanted, now burned with unbearable need for another person. He asked heaven: "Why me?" and did not receive an answer. God was silent, and Javert was left alone with his anxious thoughts and sinful desires. The unshakable order of his life was destroyed. It had been destroyed by a man who was unaware of his part in its destruction.

The Inspector did not beg God for help. Accustomed from an early age to rely only on himself, he did not go to church nor did he repent. Repentance would not bring relief. Nothing would bring relief except the sating of his obsessive desire.

Kissing Monsieur Madeleine… Blasphemy! heresy! desecration! shame! Yes. Shame.

It would degrade them both if he found the courage to do what shouldn't be done.

But every night when Javert lay down, his eyes stared into the darkness, and he desired and dreaded what awaited him on the other side of sleep.

***

Javert ran. He ran through the night streets of Montreuil-sur-Mer, past warehouses and shops and tumbled cottages. As his legs churned he calculated how far he could get if he kept running until daybreak or if he spent a lifetime running. But no distance would be great enough to allow him to escape from himself. What he had just done in the home of M. Madeleine could never be explained or forgiven. He had risen to leave the house of Monsieur le Maire right after the ill-fated glasses of brandy. He had wanted to leave quickly in order to stop himself, to forbid himself -- but he had been too careless and that carelessness has ruined him.

Exhausted by his flight through the dark streets, the Inspector stopped to catch his breath. He breathed heavily and noisily. His lips were on fire, and when he raised his hand to touch them he expected his fingers to come away burnt. With a quiet groan he closed his eyes. What a fool he was! How low he had fallen! He had allowed ignoble desires to control him - to control a person who had always ruled himself with intellect and never bent to desires of the flesh.

He would insist on resigning, if Monsieur le Maire didn't remove him from his position. He would demand a transfer back to Toulon, back to the company of other sinners and bastards. So long he had lived among them that he had apparently become just like them without realizing it. He had become hungry for body heat and emotions.

He well remembered how some of prisoners forced other inmates into humiliating intimacies. He heard their noises in the night, the rustling and moans muffled by rags. They were impious creatures fucking like animals; men lying with men. They were steered by their ignoble desires, and took what they wanted from each other. He could see them now: those movements in the dark of the barrack, the rhythmic heave of their breaths, the slap of flesh on flesh. Their sweating bodies entwined, making monstrous creatures with too many limbs, holding close to each other, sharing warmth, feelings and emotions. Their faces were the faces of beasts, disfigured by hard labor – but at these moments of intimacy they took on expressions of bliss; they looked, briefly, entirely human. But the transformation was fleeting. With choked guttural cries they would break apart, slide down from wooden bunks to the straw-strewn floor and creep away into corners. Sometimes a cry could be heard from a corner, like the cry of a wounded beast.

Javert did not want to be one of them, did not want to share their fate, did not want to lie face-down waiting tremulously to be touched. He did not want to feel a hot heavy body bearing down on him from above and holding him with its weight. He hated the idea of such a possibility – hated it so passionately that he did not recognize the moment when his denial was replaced by desire.

The Inspector took off his bicorn and threw it down at his feet. The cold wind rifled his hair. He had committed the terrible act that he had been dreaming of for so long, but it did not bring him the long-awaited relief and release from his desires. And he could already felt the birth of a cry inside his chest - the cry of wounded beast.

***

When Javert first appeared in Montreuil-sur-Mer, Valjean's instinct had been to run – to run without looking back like a wild beast fleeing its lair at the onslaught of a forest fire. But he soon realized that running was not necessary, for the Inspector did not recognize the ex-convict in the mayor. Clothing, speech, and status in society were enough to change a man beyond recognition. And since Valjean wasn't recognized even by his former jailer, he understood he would hardly recognized by anybody else. This thought brought disappointment. He had gotten so used to the skin of good Monsieur Madeleine, that he had almost forgotten how to be himself - to be dragged down to the level of a beast. The appearance of Javert as the new police inspector made him remember.

Javert’s arrival quickened his blood, which his secure life in Montreuil-sur-Mer had rendered stagnant in his veins. His heart started to beat faster and even the colours of the town and sky became brighter.

Valjean would be lying if he said he did not long for it - a brief moment of transformation that let a man be again a beast, subservient to his passions. A brief moment of freedom from the cell of respectable morals. A brief moment, which Valjean - no, Monsieur Madeleine - would never allow himself again.

Jean Valjean no longer existed. He had been hunted down by the dogs of the law, and he had died writhing in a gutter, clutching with stiff fingers the yellow passport of a prisoner.

Jean Valjean was dead. Long live Monsieur Madeleine!

He tried, tried his best to behave as he should - shake hands, and smile, and speak in the even, cultured tones of a mayor. The pious image of Madeleine directed his every movement. He genuflected in church every Sunday Mass, made confession, received the Eucharist. Every night he prayed to God not to abandon him along the road to salvation which the Bishop of Digne had pointed him toward. He prayed to keep the beast, raised in the bagne of Toulon, chained inside himself. He felt this beast hunger for freedom and for all the things it was deprived of - imprisoned so long by religion and respectability.

The beast hungered, and its hunger was against nature itself. Only a prisoner can know this hunger. It devours the body and makes the soul burn. This bestial impulse, caused by loneliness and hate for all living things, forces a convict to humiliate others or be himself humiliated at their hands. From his first days at Toulon, Valjean had the strength to avoid humiliation and enough will to not humiliate. But lying on the plank bed with his face to the wall, he could hear the noises behind his back of other men who eagerly shared their loneliness with each other. Concealed by grim darkness, the convicts around him flouted all the laws of decency. Having been cast down into the bagne for violation the secular law, they now seemed intent on hurling themselves down even further, even deeper, by violating the laws of human and divine morality. Listening in the dark, Valjean could find no other explanation for their groans and heaves. They were doomed to misery within the walls of Toulon. And so was he.

He tried to remain human and moral in the bagne, in the small ways that were still available to him. He coldly refused those who offered him their bodies. But despite his efforts, the beast inside him grew larger with each passing year.

The beast inside him craved the same thing that others craved. It listened to the night rustling, the heavy breaths of all the others. The beast forced Valjean to dream about these things.  
Valjean could have chosen any prisoner at Toulon: any of the weak ones or the pretty-faced ones; even one who was already claimed, since his fists were strong enough to defend his choice. But he did not dare. His chasteness was all he had left. The abyss beckoned below. Desperately he wished to save the last shred of decency that still reminded of him of the man he’d once been. And so, in the stifling nights when other men writhed around him and loneliness drove him to sinful thoughts, he set his carnal heart on a man whom he would never be able to touch, let alone own. He chose his jailer.

For nights, for years, he fantasized of what could not be. And now he was paying the price for those fantasies.

Not a day had gone by since the arrival of the Inspector in Montreuil-sur-Mer that Valjean didn't regret the choice he had made in Toulon. Not a day went by that he didn't offer his prayers to God, begging for protection from his desires. Not a day went by that, under cover of night, the beast in him didn't rouse and whine and tug against its chain, reminding him of his stifled dreams.

Never before had Jean Valjean so badly wanted to be himself again, as in those nights.

As Monsieur Madeleine, he wanted to be a friend to Javert. He wanted to talk with him over dinner, and know him at last as one man can know another. But as Jean Valjean, he simply hungered without nobility or reason - like a beast.

This duality drove Maleleine-Valjean to madness. He had renounced his name but could not renounce his former self. It was still part of him, longing for its lost freedom. Finding vague solace within the walls of the church, Madeleine sadly realized the simple truth of something he had once heard the Inspector say: people do not change. Convicts remain convicts, beasts remain beasts. And since he could not purge himself of Valjean, the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer eventually accepted himself. He accepted the man he had been in Toulon, and after it.

Deep inside Madeleine, in the stillness between the beats of his heart, Valjean lived on.

He invited the Inspector to dinner. It was a friendly invitation only: a simple dinner, a bottle of red wine. They spoke of some factory business, and the weather, and the upcoming farmers’ fair that in years past had caused an increase in petty crimes. After dinner, Madeleine opened the brandy, which Javert did not refuse. They sat back in their chairs. Monsieur Madeleine thought he had never felt more comfortable than in company of Inspector Javert. Even the beast inside was quiet. It was astonishing: for the first time, Madeleine-Valjean felt utter harmony between himself and his desires. He and the Inspector, who sat now at his right hand - so close! - could become friends. He could let Javert into his heart and accept him, as he had accepted himself.

It was a revelation.

His desire for Javert could not be a sin, for after all, the LORD God had said: "It is not good that the man should be alone". To fill one’s inner void; this was a God-given desire.  
Looking across his armrest at the Inspector, Valjean at last understood: through all his years of suffering, God had been beside him. In Toulon, on those desolate nights when Valjean in his loneliness had ached for Javert and no one else, it had been God’s love that guided him.

It was a moment of grace and sweet enlightenment. He looked at Javert. He could tell this man his thoughts, and then together, the two of them--

The Inspector, however, looked suddenly different. He sat unmoving in his chair as if turned to stone. His face was tense, and it was clear his mind was disturbed by some conflict. But the conflict was settled quickly, it seemed – for all at once, Javert sprang to his feet.

"It's late,” he said; “I should not abuse your hospitality." Without looking at Madeleine, he bowed quickly and turned toward the door.

Madeleine rose to his feet after him. "Inspector." He was confused. What had gone wrong? Fear grew within him - fear of losing his newfound harmony and the bright warm glow of enlightenment. "Have I somehow offended you? If so, please forgive me--"

"Monsieur le Maire." Javert's words were quiet, "There is nothing to forgive. It’s just-- It is already late.”

The Inspector strode briskly across the living room. Madeleine followed him. "Are you sure? But you are leaving so suddenly."

Javert stopped in the doorway, so abruptly that the mayor almost stumbled against him. He turned around. In his face was an expression that Madeleine recognized: it was the look that outcast pets give to their masters. Eagerness to know the touch of the master’s hand, mingled with fear that a tender hand could become a fist. He saw in Javert’s eyes the mute hope of a beast who longed to entrust himself to a man.

Madeleine, seeing all this, did not move. Javert reached for him with an air of doomed determination. His lips were dry and hot as his hands clutched the lapels of Madeleine's coat. It was less a kiss than the hunger of a half-starved animal. It was a plea.

Madeleine understood Javert. But this moment of deep understanding was swept away by fear - because inside his own chest, at the touch of Javert’s fiery lips, the hidden heart of Jean Valjean began to pound.

"Javert--"

The Inspector recoiled in horror. "Forgive me," he stammered. His gaze darted away. "I-- Forgive me-" He took an awkward step back, then another. Madeleine had the sense that, had etiquette allowed it, Javert would have dashed out the door without another word. Instead, he lowered his head. "Please, excuse me.”

Then Javert turned on his heel. The front door slammed behind him. He was gone.

The kiss still burned on Madeleine's lips. The harmonious calm he had felt moments before was torn to pieces. Madeleine-Valjean felt as if he, the man who was two men, had been torn apart as well. If it were possible, the part of him that was Jean Valjean would have rushed out into the night, drawn by a beast’s instincts, and pursued Javert. The part that was Monsieur Madeleine would have remained behind, standing motionless from horror like a pale wax statue in the middle of the living room.

If it were possible.

Instead, Madeleine buried his face in hands, "Lord,” he groaned. “Have mercy…"

***

"I ask you to dismiss me from my post." Javert stood with his head bowed, not daring to look into the eyes of the mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer.

It was the following morning. He had spent some hours settling his affairs. At the police station he had left a list of instructions for his subordinates, detailing several areas needing improvement. He then entered Monsieur le Maire’s office like a man called to bear witness to his own execution. He had awoken with a clear understanding of the truth: that all he had striven for in life had been in vain. He had not changed; he could never change. Having been born among vermin, he had remained vermin; born without wings, he had no hope of flight. He had spent his life trying to rise, but it was no use. He had always been doomed to fall.

How can a man do his duty and rid society of corruption, when he harbors the blackest corruption in his heart?

Feeling his disgrace bearing down on him, Javert waited with resignation for the Mayor’s answer with his hands clasped behind his back. But Madeleine was silent. He stood up from the table and gently, almost stealthily, approached the man who stood like a statue in the middle of his office.

“Give me a reason why I should dismiss you.”

The Mayor’s calm voice only increased Javert’s despair. He could not be the upright man he wanted to be. Nor could he ever touch M. Madeleine again. Because of the shocking act he had committed, he was no longer fit to be an officer of the law – yet, because he still honored the law, he was not able to reach toward the object of his desire. The only two things he had ever wanted stood in utter contradiction to each other. Because of this, he was losing both. He was losing everything.

With shame and despair he said, "You are well aware of that reason, Monsieur le Maire."

"No. I am not."

If Javert had not been staring so desperately at the toes of his boots, he might have noticed the worried care in M. Madeleine’s face.

"I committed an offense against you at your house, Monsieur - an impudent and disrespectful act in return for your trust and your hospitality. I should be punished."

"But punishment follows a crime - and no crime was committed.”

The Inspector flinched – for the heavy hand of Monsieur le Maire had fallen on his shoulder. Monsieur Madeleine was too upstanding – he could not see the blackness and filth that lay behind that kiss. He did not understand that one crime would lead to others. A fallen man can never rise again.

"I agree it was impudent," the Mayor continued. The Inspector still kept his eyes down; by now he knew every speck and scratch that marked the leather of his boots. “But disrespectful? No."

Javert raised his head and his eyes met with Madeleine's. In those eyes, he read anxious concern. Something else was there too. Reluctant to accept the fact of his amnesty, the Inspector took this other thing for pity. He didn't want pity.

"You don't understand,” he said quietly. The hands which before had been folded behind his back, now hung slack at his sides. His face again took on that expression with which he had so freely walked into the abyss the night before. "It's a vice, it's a sin. In the end, it's a crime against morality and against God's law. You who attend church and observe all the sacraments, you have to see it. Why do you refuse to do so? Why don't you see?"

"I do see. I see differently from you. What you mistake for viciousness and sin, I see as love."

The confidence in Monsieur Madeleine’s voice would have convinced a mountain to crack open - but, alas, it was not enough for Javert. He shook his head, "No, Monsieur le Maire, you're wrong. This is not love. Love cannot be so dark and dangerous."

"How do you know – you, a prison guard for most of your career? How can you be so sure of what love is and is not?”

"I saw it,” Javert hissed. "For twenty-one years I saw those beasts claw at each other in the dark. They put on human masks when they clung to each other, but it was lust, not love, that ruled them. You've never been in Toulon – you have not seen what I’ve seen: men who humiliate others; men who humiliate themselves. Men writhing like animals, indulging their carnal desires.”

Madeleine smiled, a little sadly, and closed his eyes. His hand slipped along the sleeve of Javert’s police uniform until it reached the Inspector’s palm. Javert wanted to draw back his hand - but before he could, the dry fingers of Monsieur le Maire closed over his own. The touch should have felt like any ordinary handshake. Instead it was entirely different. Everything felt too bright. Monsieur Madeleine covered Javert’s hand with both his own, as if to keep it from escaping him. Gently and carefully, he cradled it against his chest. This solicitude bordering on tenderness was something unknown to the Inspector, and it threw him into confusion.

"True,” Madeleine said. “I have never been in Toulon." Now it was he who would not look at Javert. Instead he looked down at the palm which he held. Slowly, almost timidly, he stroked with his thumb. "But have you ever thought, Inspector, that those outcasts - doomed to loneliness, deprived of the right to happiness and love because of their crimes - were trying in this godless way to regain what they had lost? Could it not have been their attempt at love? It was inept, improper - but still they tried, still they loved. It will be reckoned to them. Why deny it in yourself? God is love. Denying love, you deny God. Is this what you want, Javert?"

"No— I-- Of course not--"

"Then love.” And Madeleine lifted Javert’s hand and pressed his lips to those whitened fingers.

Javert thought of the look he had seen earlier in the Mayor’s eyes. He had mistaken it for pity. Now he knew it was something else. He could not believe his senses. Everything around him, and inside him, was falling apart.

"But why?" he whispered.

"Because if I do not have love, I am nothing.”


End file.
